


one more round

by professortennant



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Boxing, F/M, Fluff, Screw the Regs, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 12:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: "I didn’t want to get court-martialed for giving a superior officer a black eye, sir.”He whistled low, eyebrows raised. Warmth flooded his chest when she didn’t duck away from his gaze, just lifted her chin and stared at him, waiting to see what he’d say. Jack licked his lips, shed his jacket and stepped into the ring. “You think an awful lot of yourself, Captain.”





	one more round

Jack smothered a grin at the easy, natural way Carter fell into a fighting stance, hands up and feet light, dancing around the ring and easily dodging her opponent’s swings. 

The smell of gym rubber and antiseptic filled the air alongside the steady grunts and smacks of fists against bags and people.  _Dempsey’s Gym_ in downtown Colorado Springs was the kind of place gritty boxers were formed and built. 

Jack had been looking for places off-base to take Teal’c around to and, given Teal’c’s new-found affinity for boxing and sparring, he figured a boxing gym would be just the place. And this particular gym didn’t seem to care who you were as long as you could strap on your gloves and hold your own in the ring.

It was the last place he expected to find his second-in-command. 

He leaned against the ring and watched as she jabbed once, twice, three times at her opponent’s midsection and hip before ducking under a wild swing and landing the KO blow to the side of his head. The man went down with a hard  _oomph_  and Carter–sweat-soaked and flushed–stood above him, triumphant. 

He grinned and lifted his fingers to his mouth and gave a loud whistle and whoop. “Hooah!”

She spun to face him in surprise, spitting out her mouthguard into her hand and slicking the hair from her forehead back. “Sir? What are you doing here?”

* * *

 

Pushing himself off the post and watching as her former opponent finally came-to and dragged himself off the ring floor towards the medic, Jack strode towards her, stopping at the edge of the ring. “Lookin’ for a place where Teal’c and I can really get the full Rocky experience. What are  _you_  doing here, Carter? Air Force gym not good enough for you?”

She frowned at him, weight shifting from foot to foot. “Of course not, sir! I just–I like to let loose sometimes. The Air Force has strict sparring policies and I–”

“And you wanted to fight like Apollo Creed, I get it.”

She grinned at him. “More like I didn’t want to get court-martialed for giving a superior officer a black eye, sir.”

He whistled low, eyebrows raised. Warmth flooded his chest when she didn’t duck away from his gaze, just lifted her chin and stared at him, waiting to see what he’d say. Jack licked his lips, shed his jacket and stepped into the ring. “You think an awful lot of yourself,  _Captain._  Why don’t we see who’s giving who a black eye?”

Jack ignored the sound of her protesting as he grabbed a spare set of gloves, waiving off the gym tech’s offer of a mouthguard and helmet. “Lose the mouthguard and helmet, Carter,” he called over his shoulder, watching as the gym tech finished tying up his gloves. 

He heard her sigh and mutter something low under her breath that sounded suspiciously like  _Cocky flyboy._  He grinned to himself, already anxious for the day she would say that a little louder to his face. After a nod to the gym assistant, he turned on his heel to face his 2IC. 

She stood before him, focused and determined, her body simultaneously tensed and relaxed, and he had a sudden flashback to Samantha Carter facing down a Mongol warlord with nothing but a knife and her fury to sustain her. 

Rolling his shoulders, he fell back into an easy fighting stance, feet shoulder-width apart and hands raised eye-level. “Okay, Carter,” he taunted. “Show me those Level 4 hand-to-hand combat skills.”

“Sir,” she said, already circling him, hands lifting up and ready. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

Jack made a playful jab at her–something easily avoidable and she rolled her eyes at him, knocking his hand away. He huffed, “C’mon, Carter. This is a consequence-free ring. Nothing that happens in  _here_  counts out  _there_.” He gestured in the vague direction of the SGC base.

He had meant that if she managed to break his nose or land him that black eye, she wouldn’t have to worry about a court-martial or reprimand.

But then she stopped in the middle of the ring, hands falling loosely to her side. 

He watched as she licked her lips and tilted her head, eyes dragging along the muscles of his exposed arms and the thick cords of muscle protruding from his legs. “No consequences,” she agreed softly, darkened eyes meeting his. 

He swallowed harshly against the look in her eyes and wondered what, exactly, he was getting himself into. 

A shrill bell rang from the corner of the gym and Carter grinned at him, wolfish and feral–all teeth and intent–and her hands flew up to protect her face, body resuming her fighting stance. 

Samantha Carter, he decided, was magnificent like this. He knew she could be brainy; could do the impossible ten times before breakfast and still have time to save his team’s ass before bed. But seeing her like this: unrestrained, unreserved, unleashed. It was mesmerizing.

She came at him like lightning and thunder, a blaze of jabs and swings and punches. While he had the size and strength advantage, she had speed and dexterity and a ferocity to her that made him tingle all over. 

He wondered if she would bring this fire with her to bed, if he swept out his leg and brought her down to the mat, would she feel like molten lava beneath his hands? 

They continued dancing around each other, exchanging hits and knocks, dodging and rolling around the ring. The grin on both of their faces never left and he realized how exhilarating it felt to be with her–see her–like this. 

“Carter, you holding out on me? I thought you said you were  _good_  at this?” he taunted before grunting with the force of a left hook he didn’t have time to dodge. He absorbed the blow and spun, looking for a point of weakness; looking for a way to get her down. 

“I  _am_  good at this. Maybe you’d be better if you did less talking and more hitting,  _sir.”_

The backtalk from his normally obedient 2IC surprised him and he tripped over his foot, sending him sprawling down onto the floor, his body hitting the floor with a heavy  _thud._

Embarrassed, he blinked up at the ceiling slowly, groaning when a laughing Samantha Carter’s face appeared over his, a gloved hand covering her mouth in an attempt to hold in her giggles.

“Not a word, Captain,” he said from the floor, tearing off his gloves and throwing them to the side of the ring. “And what did I say about giggling?”

She laughed again and he felt the corners of his mouth turning upwards as he watched her shoulders shake with laughter, her happiness making him feel lighter than he had in years. Even if it was at his expense.

He grumbled good-naturedly at her and held his hand up. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Carter. Now you going to help this old man up or what?”

She stripped her gloves from her hands. “You’re not  _old_ , sir.” Her gloves went sailing through the air to join his on the other side of the ring. “Just operating on antique hand-to-hand tactics,” she added cheekily, eyes sparkling. 

Jack O’Neill immediately decided he liked her like this: free, teasing, and happy. 

When she took his offered hand to help him up, there was only one option: He yanked down, hard, pulling her to the floor beside him. She went down with a little  _eep_ and fell on top of him, eyes wide. 

She glared at him. “Oh, very mature, sir.”

He shrugged and grinned at her. “I’m a very honorable loser, Sam, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The use of her first name seemed to draw attention to the fact that she was sprawled out on top of him. His hand spread across her lower back, his pinky finger dipping beneath the fabric of her tank top to brush against warm skin slick with sweat. 

He became hyper aware of the fact that she fit nicely against him, her legs tangling with his, her groin level with his, her lips the perfect distance from his mouth. Her hand tightened in the fabric of his shirt and her eyes darted down to his mouth. 

Jack was reminded quickly of a similar situation–of locker room benches and fierce, hurried kisses and nails scraping at his hairline and a soft, warm body beneath his own.

The memory combined with the feel of her in his arms made him shift his hips, pressing up and searching for more heat, more friction. 

“Sam,” he warned as she answered in kind, curling her hands against his chest and leaning forward. 

“No consequences, right?” Her voice was husky and low and he groaned when her tongue–pink and glistening–flicked out to lick over her lips, swaying forward. Her legs shifted against him and brought more of their body in contact so he could feel all of her: hot and sweaty and soft and absolutely perfect.

He gave in and brushed his lips against hers, a gentle touch of lips and the barest flicker of tongue against her parted mouth. She shivered and pressed forward, almost terrified of touching him too much in case she broke whatever spell they were under. He carded his hands through her hair and guided her head to the side, drawing her bottom lip between his lips and sucking and nipping at the flesh. 

She groaned and rolled onto her back, dragging him with her so he pinned her to the mat, his thigh slotting between her legs and pressing up into the damp heat of her sex. 

He was losing control quickly. The heady combination of her–her brilliance, her smile, her loyalty, her bravery, her compassion, her beauty, her fierceness, her strength–all of it wrapped up in a blonde bombshell of a package was too much for him. 

They’d been hurtling towards this point from the day they met; from the day he told her he liked women and the day she threatened to arm wrestle him. Maybe this moment was an inescapable as breathing. 

The feel of her leg hitching over his hip brought his wandering mind back to the moment and he smoothed a hand down her side, brushing against the side of her breast. She broke their kiss and gasped into his ear, “Jack!”

The sound of his name on her lips made him groan and he ducked his head to kiss her again and then–

“Hey! You two! Either fight it out or go get a room; no sex in the ring!”

A cascade of water hit them both and they looked up, drenched and embarrassed as the gym owner–Dempsey–held up a now-empty bucket of water. He glared at them and gestured to the front door.

Sheepishly, they got to their feet and collected the offered towels and stowed their gear into gym bags. The wolf-whistles followed them out of the gym and the cool Colorado air made them shiver, their cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. 

“Well, I guess I won’t be bringing Teal’c here.”

She grimaced and raised a hand subconsciously to her lips, rubbing and pressing gently where his mouth and teeth had just been. He swallowed a groan at the idea that she would feel his kiss for the next few hours. 

“Sir, I–”

He held up a hand and shuffled forward, brushing the stray strands of hair from her face. “No consequences in the ring, remember?”

She turned her face into his palm and nodded, eyes closing. “Yes, sir.” When her eyes opened, gone was the woman from the ring, gone was the woman who mewled in his arms and wrapped herself so tightly around his body. 

Before him, stood Captain Doctor Samantha Carter, reporting for duty. He smiled softly at her and stood back, hand dropping to his side and burying itself inside the pockets of his shorts. 

“See you tomorrow, Captain.”

He turned on his heel, intending to go home and pour himself a stiff drink and maybe,  _maybe_  touch himself while thinking about her tonight. And then tomorrow it would be back to business as usual. He sighed.

“Sir!”

He stopped and turned back to face her, eyebrow raised in question. She ducked her head, her lip caught between her teeth as she worked up the nerve to say whatever was on her mind.

“I, uh, come here every Saturday morning when we’re home.”

He nodded, frowning slightly. “Okay…”

She huffed and met his eyes. “Maybe on some of those mornings, we could spar? I could help you with your hand-to-hand and–and maybe it could be in that no consequence ring you seem to like?”

His heart stopped and stuttered in his chest before roaring back to life, blood thrumming through his veins, and he fought every nerve inside of him screaming at him to take her into his arms and kiss her senseless for how absolutely brilliant she was. 

“Then I’ll see you next Saturday, Captain.” 

He wondered if Dempsey’s had a locker room they could use. A fifteen minute sparring match and then he’d drag her to the nearest shower stall and press her against the cold tile and warm her up with his body and the hot spray of water and his mouth and tongue working the bundle of nerves between her legs while she scratched at his shoulder blades. Or he could lean back against the wooden bench and pull her astride his hips, encouraging her to reenact the kiss that couldn’t happen before. If he was feeling brave, maybe he’d tug her dog tags loose from her shirt and exchange them for his–a way to claim her as is in the only way he knew how.

He could–and would–do all of those things. They’d need to talk about what it was they were doing in that no consequence ring of theirs; would need to really hash it out if it became a problem.

 But for now. he’d take this: a standing date with Samantha Carter with an (almost) guarantee of no black eye and maybe a couple of kisses instead. 

_Sweet._


End file.
